Cold
by Zagzagel
Summary: Something despaired in him as he saw how frail that hand looked slipping back beneath the blankets. Nothing of Michael was ever fragile except maybe his happiness.


**XX**

* * *

"I'm cold."

"I know, Michael."

There was a fire, the memories in his borrowed flesh had proven useful and shown him how to build one with just his hands. There were blankets and he sat against the rough logs that made up the wall, Michael leaning against him with his face buried in his neck.

"Where are we?"

"Safe."

He couldn't manifest anything because his grace was too busy keeping his vessel intact and Michael alive. When he fell into that damanable cage he thought he had felt true powerlessness but this –

No he cannot have such thoughts.

"I'm dying."

"You were."

The flow of grace hasd almost stopped. In the beginning, it had spilled over his fingers like liquid silver and he didn't think it would ever slow, Michael's eyes glazed and not seeing him. He had prayed for the first time since the fall. The words leaving him not in anger but in desperation and part of him wanted to curse their Father for allowing this.

"It hurts."

"Would you rather be dead or hurting?"

There's no real bit to his words, and Michael knew it when he felt his brother laugh against his neck. Michael squirmed again, trying to get closer, and Lucifer used his hand not over the wound to pull the woolen things tighter around them. They smelled like mothballs and dust, but if they worked to steady his brother's vessel, then he would endure it.

"I didn't know what to do."

"Rest, Michael, it's alright."

He had never heard him sounding so lost before. His brother that always had the answer, who was now drifting into something like sleep, as close as they could get to it. His mind started to wander as they sat, Michael shifting now and then. Just being this close again, he thought they would never have another day that was not blood and grief.

 _You ripped me apart so long ago Lucifer. I am merely finishing what you started._

 _Michael, what are you doing?_

 _Disobeying._

 _Don't –_

His vessel's eyes flew open and he held onto that small body, still alive, both vessel and angel, tighter then he probably should. The flow of grace had stopped and he allowed himself a few minutes to try to rest.

He managed to bend enough to get a hand into his back pocket without disturbing Michael too much. The other angel muttered something in his meditation and kissed his skin before settling again. These contraptions of the humans irritated him in a way that he could not identify, but while loathe admitting it, it was easier to use than normal demonic methods.

One of his more resourceful pets had gotten Sam's number a few days ago. While the brothers were cautious enough to not be located by their phones he had been toying with calling his vessel.

Now it smacked so much of divine provenance that he wanted to shake their Father, yell and scream. No matter what he did, Michael should not have been left. It should never have been like this.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Sam."

There was a sharp breath and he knew he was being put on speaker phone.

"What the hell? Really? You embrace a new calling plan and wanted to reach out and torture someone?"

"Hello Dean. If you can drop the rabid dog act I need your help."

He heard the cockiness in the older brother, the scoff. The over bearing attitude. It was Michael when he was in a mood and Lucifer shifted to kiss the top of his brother's head. The elder nuzzled closer.

"Our help? With what? How not to be a homicidal douche?"

"Michael."

"What do you want us to do about him?"

"Help me save him."

"What did you do?" It was Sam's voice, demanding and scared.

"I did not hurt him. He is stable but he will die if I don't get help." He paused, looking at the figure in his arms like he could hold onto him and keep him alive by sheer strength. "Please."

"Well, if you didn't do this, this sounding exceptionally bad, who did?"

Somehow Michael had snaked an impossibly small looking hand out from under the layers of wool and dust and motioned for the phone. Lucifer helped him hold it, disliking the clamminess of his vessel's skin.

"Dean. I was trying to – disobey."

Sammy was soft, that 'Oh God' was just barely audible and he knew that his vessel got it. His Sammy.

"Dean, he, he did it to himself."

There was silence and Lucifer let them be quiet and process. They had some time he believed, it wasn't critical yet. Michael's eyes were draping shut again when Dean next spoke; his voice a bit thicker and more subdued.

"Why did you do this?"

"Do you remember when you met me, when I saved you?" Michael's voice wasn't strong but it was there and certain all the same. "I went back to that time and your father and I talked. I told him everything and we agreed to this."

"This? Mike what the hell is this?" Dean's voice had that raw edge that before Lucifer would have loved to see. Now it only burned and pushed along his exposed nerves.

"I took his soul to heaven, he is forever safe. If his body died by my blade he could not be returned. There would be no vessels, I wouldn't have to -" Michael murmured his strength failing. "Brother, I'm sorry."

"It's okay, just rest."

Something despaired in him as he saw how frail that hand looked slipping back beneath the blankets. Nothing of Michael was ever fragile, except maybe his happiness.

"Why not heaven, Lucifer?"

Castiel was there, he was not surprised, as he hoped the angel that could would be.

"Would you entrust him to heaven so weak after what he's done with how heaven is?"

"No."

"Do you still fly Castiel?"

"For now. Where are you and what do you need?"

He told them the coordinates, it was the best he could do and what he needed. He slipped the phone off and wrapped both arms around Michael who was back to resting against him, every once in a while kissing his neck.

"Dad has a sense of humor," Michael got out with a breathy sound.

"Michael –"

"The Winchesters."

"Hopefully they won't shoot us. I'm not in the mood to be shot by your vessel again."

"Mmm," Michael murmured, slipping back into a meditative state, his vessel still feverish and glassy eyed, but his grace was not seeping out.

There was a beat, the sound announcing them, and he tensed, ready to put Michael behind him if need be.

It was Dean who came forward, carrying some of what they needed looking at them, Michael still pressed tightly against him.

"You stupid son of a bitch," the hunter muttered, but it was underlined by something that was some sort of understanding. "You finally figure out free will and we have to come stitch you up."

Michael made a small sound that resembled amusement.

"You two, no burning up the world if we do this."

"Agreed. I think Michael's more than proven he's agreed."

Castiel and Sam came forward and he leaned his head against the roughhewn walls and waited.


End file.
